He pushed himself off the ground, finally free from the ghostly onslaught. The ghost had fallen backward, sprawled across Hill's legs.
But it was recovering quickly, clawing at his grip on its ankle.
There's no way I'm letting go! I'll die if I do!
Hill rolled hard, dragging the ghost with him until they slammed into the floor. He tightened his grip on its cold ankle, feeling brittle bone beneath the shrouded flesh. The ghost hissed, its gaunt face twisting with fury, but it remained solid—trapped as long as Hill maintained his grip.
This was his chance. The ghost now lay sprawled on its torso, trying to push itself up.
Hill pounced despite the screaming pain in his ribs. If he didn't take this opportunity, he was dead anyway.
He dragged his hand up the ghost's bony leg and threw himself on top of it. The ghost crumbled beneath his weight, surprising him. Its strength before—was it just magic? It's physically weak!
Now the ghost was pinned beneath him, their positions reversed.
Got you now! Hill felt a surge of hope as he wrapped his arm around the ghost's frail neck, locking it in a perfect headlock. Using every ounce of strength left in his battered body, he squeezed, trying to crush the life from his tormentor.
A fatal mistake.
His muscles strained as he tightened his grip, knuckles white with effort. The ghost thrashed beneath him, its materialized form surprisingly wiry and resistant. Hill held firm, channeling all his desperation into the chokehold, expecting to hear gasping, choking sounds.
Nothing came. The ghost continued to struggle with jerky, unnatural movements, showing no sign of suffocation.
The realization hit him like ice water. Of course. Why would a ghost need to breathe?
A deep dread spread through him, colder than the ghost's aura. His triumphant surge faltered. The headlock was useless.
Then he felt it—the cold. Not just the surface chill of the ghost's form anymore, but something penetrating deeper. Where his arm wrapped around its neck, where his chest pressed against its back, an intense, biting frost spread through his clothes and into his skin. His muscles stiffened, movements becoming sluggish. Ice crystals formed on his arm, glittering in the dim light that radiated from his own body.
The ghost wasn't just cold—it was actively freezing him. The longer he maintained contact, the more solid it remained, but the more vulnerable he became to its paralyzing frost.
Fresh panic surged through him. His fingers, locked around the ghost's neck, grew numb and unresponsive. The frost crept up his arm toward his shoulder, threatening to freeze the joint solid. He tried to maintain pressure, but his strength failed—not just from exhaustion, but from the spreading ice.
He had to let go. If he didn't, he'd become a frozen statue, helpless as the ghost broke free or waited for him to shatter. With a gasp that frosted in the air, he released the headlock and shoved himself away, his stiffening limbs barely responding.
He tumbled backward, shivering violently, his arm burning with cold and aching from stiffness. The ghost lay still for a moment, then slowly, deliberately pushed itself up. Its form flickered, becoming slightly translucent again. It turned its hollow eye sockets toward Hill, that horrifying smile still stretched across its face. It hadn't won the grapple, but it had won the exchange.
"D-damn it," Hill cursed through chattering teeth, blood freezing against his chilled face. How do I defeat this monster? I can't even wrestle it!
The ghost vanished, materializing right in front of him before slamming its palm into his chin. Pain exploded through his skull as his body lifted off the ground. Another palm struck his side, sending him flying. He crashed to the ground in a heap, blood flowed freely from his nose and welled in his throat. He was fading, powerless to stop it.
He looked up at the approaching ghost, its taunting smile making him tremble. I'm dead, aren't I? I can't beat it in a fist fight, can't wrestle with it. It's hopeless.
He struggled to sit up, but the ghost slammed him back down with a palm to the chest. He coughed blood before the ghost's hand wrapped around his throat, simultaneously freezing and choking him.
The grip was both frigid and crushing. His eyes bulged as he tried to break free, but the skeletal limb pulsed with icy energy, freezing his fingers as they clutched at it. Despair flooded his mind.
I'm dying...
The ghost stared down, its unnaturally wide smile filling his dimming vision. He couldn't feel the pressure anymore, couldn't even feel his neck. Just cold.
He wanted to surrender, to close his eyes and fade away, but when he did, all he saw was his father's smile—that same false, forced expression. The facade that he had grown to hate with all his heart. This ghost had the same unnatural grin. Was he really going to let himself be dragged into the abyss by such a thing?
Yeah, right! I'm killing this piece of shit!
Refusing to give up, Hill grabbed the ghost's elbow with his fingers. Despite the freezing sensation, he squeezed hard on the joint, pushing with his right hand and pulling with his left.
The skeletal arm, though coursing with freezing power, had no physical strength. The opposing forces slowly bent the ghost's elbow backward. The unnatural smile vanished, replaced by rage as another rush of cold crawled up Hill's face, threatening to freeze his head solid.
But he kept fighting back. Within a few seconds, the skeletal arm bent beyond its limit and snapped with a sickening crack. The grip on his throat loosened as the ghost roared in agony, trying to pull itself away.
Hill's fingers were frozen solid against the ghost's broken arm, useless but locked in place. As the ghost retreated, dragging him along, Hill lunged forward with his last reserves of strength.
And sank his teeth deep into the ghost's neck.